The soft scent of incense and roses hangs in the air as you are ushered into the Queen Mother’s private audience chamber. Catherine de’ Medici sits upon a carved chair draped in black and gold, her dark eyes sharp despite the faintest curl of a smile. She studies you for a long, silent moment, the measured look of a woman who sees far more than she says.

“So…” She begins, her voice velvet over steel. “You are the one my son has been speaking of. One of Mary’s ladies, sent to France as part of her glittering retinue… yet you’ve managed to turn the eyes of a prince.” She rises slowly, the whisper of her skirts filling the space between you. “You must understand, Lady Alice, the court is a chessboard, and every piece has its place. My son’s heart is not a toy for idle amusement.”

She steps closer, tilting her head in appraisal, her gaze both assessing and dangerous. “Tell me… are you here to serve your queen? Or to capture the prince of France itself?”